


Clean White Sheets

by raewise



Series: Kit Ashbourne [7]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Drug Withdrawal, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Past Drug Addiction, Past Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-01
Updated: 2016-10-01
Packaged: 2018-08-18 19:56:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8174057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raewise/pseuds/raewise
Summary: Arcade sees Kit at her most vulnerable.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Sister Morphine" by the Rolling Stones
> 
> It's been awhile since I've uploaded anything! I had jaw surgery two weeks ago and I'm still recovering, but this has been a work in progress for a long time, so I thought I should at least finish it up and upload something for you guys. I've been working on the newest chapter for "Serpent" if you've been following that fic, as well as an update for "Rizzo Chronicles." I have a bunch of stuff in the works, actually, but I don't know when they'll be finished, so hang in there, friends! 
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!

Kit’s hands are shaking and she can’t stop them. Images flash in her mind--skinny wrists and demon smiles and the smell of mold and Jet. She remembers the way her pimp would barter for more money, the way old men would act like they owned her body. Quitting prostitution just to end up deeper in the chem trade--a courier. Always with the sweet taste of Jet on her tongue, surrounding her, in her hair and beneath her fingernails. Watching the ceiling and ignoring tears streaming down her face.

When it was bad, it was always  _ really  _ bad. Splitting migraines when her boss wouldn’t give her the caps he owed her, and she couldn’t get her hands on that beautiful inhaler. Curling up on herself, desperately offering herself up on a silver platter for old clients. People used to look at her with pity, the little ex-whore too far gone to get her damn life together.

Back then, on her worst days she would slip inside the theatre where Bruce Isaac performed, and rock herself back and forth to his sultry tones. Music saved her life, in a way. Music and the NCR.

New Reno was not an NCR-aligned town, far from, but sometimes troops would stop by to indulge in a spot of Jet or gambling before they made it to the Vegas Strip. On one of the worst days Kit was sitting on her ass in the middle of an alley, desperately trying to get her puffer to offer up more sweet nectar, but it was empty. And who would walk by but a group of women dressed up in trooper fatigues. 

She must have made some sort of noise, because the women stopped, and one of them crouched down next to her. In the golden glow of the streetlights, the woman looked like an angel. She pressed her hand to her throat, saying, “She’s burning up and her pulse is going fucking crazy.”

“We should get her to a medic.”

“No way she can afford it. You think it’s withdrawal?”

The rattling of an inhaler being shaken. “Definitely. C’mon, she needs our help, poor girl.”

The rest of that evening was a blur of hands touching her, vomiting on the crumbling concrete, doctor’s sterile white labcoat. But something Kit definitely remembered was the red berets the women all wore, and the sniper rifles that hung from their shoulders.

When she felt better, and less like she was going to drop dead, one of the women stopped by. She had a pretty round, brown face and sparkling eyes. Her hair was cut close to the scalp, just short of being buzzed. Her beret was off-centre. 

“Corporal Asha Singh,” she introduced herself. The soldier took Kit’s bony hand in her callused one. “I’m glad to see you still around, miss.”

Kit ended up crying in the kind stranger’s arms, the soldier’s fingers running through her tangled hair. “Thank you,” she moaned. “T-thank you.”

If it weren’t for Cpl. Singh, Kit’s sure she would be dead right now. But despite her many years off the Jet, sometimes her skin still crawls with the desire for it. She wants to meet with Dixon and take him up on his offer. Kit wants to start taking hits again, wants to reverse all these years of hard work, of effort and self-love and throw it in the shitter again. 

Kit hates herself the most on these days.

\--

Cass is the one who notices something’s wrong, keeps exchanging looks with Arcade from across the kitchen table. Boone’s locked himself up in his room, Veronica is doing some sort of reconnaissance mission for the Followers, Benny’s gone out on the Strip for some “personal business,” and Raul’s selling scrap in Freeside. 

Finally, Arcade corners Kit in the living area. She’s been staring at the wall for the past thirty minutes, mindlessly stroking Rex’s back. He sits next to her on the sofa, looking at her glazed stare through his glasses. Slowly he reaches out, fingers brushing her knee.

Kit startles, tears springing up in her eyes, body quivering all over. She looks like there is something slicing underneath her skin, clawing its way out. 

“Hey, hey. It’s me. Arcade.” Kit continues breathing in heavy pants. “You’re safe, Ash.”

She throws herself at him, tears and snot running down her face. Arcade’s always been uncomfortable with touching, but he knows when he needs to step out of his comfort zone. For the sake of a patient. Arcade pets her hair, holding her close. She smells like sweat and is shaking like a leaf. Kit’s little moans in his ear make his stomach churn. Then he hears: “I’m so tired. I’m just so tired of being alive. I’m useless and I hate myself  _ so much _ .”

He doesn’t say anything to that. Arcade knows the feeling. He knows guilt and inadequacy and self hatred. Those feelings have branded his entire life. 

“Hey,” he says instead. “What do you need me to do?”

She babbles for a moment, phlegm making her voice pop. “Boone. Can you get Boone?”

Arcade looks at her for a long moment, wondering if she’s serious. As if Arcade wasn’t bad enough, Boone was a whole other level of discomforting. 

“Okay. Okay, I’ll get him. Stay, Rex.”

He shifts her smaller body off of him--he’s tall and she’s average sized for a woman. He watches Kit wrap herself around Rex, listens to the dog’s concerned whining. When he knocks on Boone’s door, the sniper shouts, “Go away.”

Arcade scowls. Boone’s girlfriend-or-whatever-the-hell-was-going-on-between-them is on the verge of a mental breakdown and the asshole’s too busy for her.

“Ash needs you. She’s--messed up right now.” Because despite his guesses, Arcade  _ doesn’t know  _ what’s wrong with her. He thinks she’s having a panic attack, or something involving depression or PTSD but he had never seen her like this before. Broken. Unstable. “I don’t know what to do.”

He can hear Boone walking over to the door, his heavy NCR boots against the carpet. When the younger man pokes his head out, grimacing unattractively, Arcade motions for him to follow. Kit’s still a pretzel around the cybernetic dog, the tension in her shoulders visible from across the room. 

Boone is on her faster than light, pulling her against him like he can shield the courier from the universe if he needs to. He’s mumbling hushed words into her neck, letting her rake her long nails down his shoulderblades even though it no doubt hurts. 

Kit isn’t half as private as Boone, audibly sobbing out, “I need a fix. I need a hit, Boone. Please please. Boone.”

Arcade doesn’t know what to do with that information. He had no idea Kit was an addict. She hid it well.

“What’s she talking about? Psycho? Med-X?” Arcade is a doctor, first and foremost. And to help a patient he needs to know what’s wrong with them.

“Jet,” Boone mutters, looking over at him. It takes Arcade by surprise to see he isn’t wearing his perpetual sunglasses. He looks so tired, young face haggard with age-old pain. Arcade’s seen similar looks on young soldiers who would stop by the Fort. Julie would usually point them in the direction of Usanagi. 

“Boone, please…” Kit pleads.

“What should we do?” Boone asks Arcade, looking lost.

“Detox won’t do anything--how long’s she been off it?”

“Years.”

“Then we just need to ride through it with her. It’s mental, not physical.”

Kit lets out a pained sob, and Arcade can feel Cass’s presence beside him in the doorway. Watching their leader writhing in anguish isn’t something either of them can handle. When something goes wrong in the field, or a situation doesn’t go their way, Kit is the one who deals with the consequences. Cool-headed, charismatic, and damn lucky. She’s smarter than a lot of people give her credit for. Seeing such a strong, resilient person going through this is something nobody wants, and when it’s someone you love…

“She should see Dr. Usanagi. If Ash’s been dealing with this on her own… she needs support, and the care of someone qualified.”

Kit’s teeth are audibly grinding, veins pressing tightly against her throat. Cass squats in front of her, petting her friend’s cheek. Kit’s fists release, flexing. Arcade never noticed how emaciated the courier was, her bones so visible through her freckled hands. But now that’s all he can see, a malnourished young woman on the New Reno streets, huffing Jet like her life depended on it. If asked yesterday, Arcade would’ve never connected the two women. Kit Ashbourne is a brick wall, a bronze statue, a steady stream of water. The woman on the street was a broken porcelain doll.

“Boone,” she whines.  _ “Boone.”  _

“What do you need?”

“I hurt so bad, baby. Everything’s gone all hazy. I didn’t… I didn’t want you to see me like this, Boone.”

Arcade sits in an armchair, looking over the sad scene alertly. This isn’t the sort of thing Arcade knows how to deal with. Give him a gunshot wound and it’ll be right as rain, but mental pain… That requires bedside manner, something Arcade’s experience didn’t provide him with. When he was younger he’d been withdrawn, almost anti-social, and age hadn’t done much to alleviate that--other than making him a bit better at pretending to be something he isn’t. If Arcade’s good at anything, it’s lying.

“Shh,” Boone coos, gentle in a way Arcade never would have imagined him capable of. Arcade knows that Boone was married, that he was a soon-to-be father. That side of him is peeking out, his light cast over Kit’s shivering figure.

Cass sits down, crossing her legs. She props her chin on top of Kit’s knee, causing the other woman to curl around her so her nose is buried in Cass’s orange hair. Kit’s in the fetal position now, Boone’s strong arm wrapped around her waist, Rex on her lap, Cass pressed against her shins. Arcade feels alien, an unnecessary unit in an equation that has nothing to do with him.

Swallowing, Arcade says, “Should I get Julie? She has more experience with chem addictions than I do. And she can contact Dr. Usanagi…” 

“No,” Boone says, looking at him with his uncovered eyes. “Kit needs you here. Send ED-E if you have to, but don’t leave her.”

Easier said than done. Arcade knows what it feels like to run from distressing situations. He’s been on the run for years, the closest he got to settling down was with the Followers, and he left even them. But Kit… He can see their friendship going long-term. He’s been shot for her more times than he can count, and the amazing thing: she returns the favour.

“Okay,” Arcade says confidently. “What do you need me to do?”

\--

Kit first sees bright orange, the colour of the desert horizon. She feels warm all over, weight pressed to both of her sides. There are multiple breaths around her, making her spine tingle. Where is she? Squirming, Kit feels the person to her left, feeling the familiar coarseness of Boone’s stubble, the curve of his cupid’s bow and the grubby t-shirt. She realizes that in front of her, Cass has coiled herself around her legs, hair mussed from where Kit had been unconsciously nuzzling.

Rex looks up at her, his mechanical parts whirring as he wakes up. His tongue lolls out the side of her mouth, drool dripping down his chops. Kit tries to pet him, but her dominant hand is being held in place by another person. Arcade’s glasses have slid halfway down his face, the lenses streaked with oil. He snuffles, lips taught, then lets go of her hand. 

“How are you doing?” he asks hoarsely. He runs a hand through his hair.

“Better,” she says. “Better. I’m sorry I--”

“Don’t apologize. We’re here for you, y’know. All of us.” He pats her knee gently before standing up. “I’ll get you some water. Hungry?”

“A little bit.” She feels feeble and weak, and there’s pressure in her temples from her headache, but she feels content in a way she never has before after one of her episodes. “Thank you, Arcade. For being here with me. It means a lot.”

He gives her a little closed-lipped smile, face red. “I’m a doctor. It’s my job to be here for you.”

“No, Arcade. I mean--thanks for being here as my friend. If I needed a doctor, there’re plenty around. But friends? Those’re in short supply.”

His gaze softens. “Not for you, Ash.”

Cass lifts her head, blinks at the pair. “Damn, my fuckin’  _ back,”  _ she moans, getting to her feet. “I need a drink.”

The caravaneer shuffles out of the room, popping her vertebrae. Rex hops off the couch and stalks after her into the kitchen. Arcade smiles once more, then leaves Kit and Boone huddled together on the couch.

Resting her head against Boone’s, Kit lets her eyes slide shut once more as she listens to Arcade and Cass in the kitchen.

**Author's Note:**

> [Buy me a coffee!](http://ko-fi.com/I3I59IAV)


End file.
